Searing Kiss
by JazzPizza
Summary: Prequel to Cold Embrace. How Ginny came to love Ron in the worst way. RonGinny angst. Also pairs RHr, HG.
1. Everything That Isn't

   Author's Note: So I finally gave into temptation, and decided to do it – write the lead-in to "Cold Embrace", and explain the unspoken bond between Ron and Ginny in that story. And I must say, I love this pairing. I really, really do. Because I have fun writing it, but I still touch on important subjects and put a lot of effort into my writing. There's something magical about it, really…

   Anyway, to those who haven't read "Cold Embrace" – you don't have to in order to understand this story; in fact, reading this story first and then reading "Cold Embrace" might be better that the alternative. Of course, you don't have to read "Cold Embrace" at all, really…but please do. And, no matter what you have to say – if you read this, review! Because I'm used to flames by now, anyway, due to my penchant for incest and slash themes…

*******

   He slides into bed next to me, and wraps his arm around my side, giving me a reassuring smile. I snuggle in close to him, taking solace in his warmth as if I were a needy child. The way he's holding me now is like it was – we used to lie together like this when we were children. And even though he's only twelve and I'm just eleven – which is young, too young really, for all we've been through – I know we're not children, because children are allowed to do different things. Children are allowed to stay in the same room as their brothers, to sleep next to them. So I know when he holds me, he doesn't hold me like I'm an eleven-year-old, but like I'm the child Ginny I used to be, the Ginny who needed him to chase away my fears.

   I still need him to chase away my fears, but I don't feel like a child when he holds me anymore. I feel like a woman, a woman lying next to a man. And something about that is so very wrong, wrong like loving Tom, wrong like wanting to be a woman for him…but then I look at Ron, and it's okay. It's okay, because Ron makes everything okay; as long as he loves me, I feel like I can be anything. It was never that way with Tom, simply because Tom would make me something that Ron wouldn't love anymore. I couldn't be that. I thought I loved Tom to the ends of the earth but…Ron is the beginning and end of my earth and I would never hurt him. 

   I didn't want to hurt anyone, in the first place, but when you love someone, it's so hard to say no. It's so hard to – even when they don't ask, you want to make them happy. You want to do all you can to make life better for them, to make your lives better together. So maybe it didn't seem so bad, to let out the basilisk, to have a few people be Petrified. I never thought they might die, it never occurred to me that Tom would want something like that…because Tom was so sweet, and so kind, and so gentle, and maybe his opinions were a bit different than my family's, but he was a good person…because he loved me.

   I thought that anyone with love in their heart had to be good. Now I don't know what good is anymore. I loved Tom, but am I a good person? I could've had people killed, people like Harry. People like Hermione. People I would never want to hurt, but somehow they don't seem so important when you love someone…if they're in the way…

   Tom thought that just because I loved him so very much – so very much more than Harry – everything was out of the way. He'd talked me out of telling my family about him in the first place, and he knew how they teased me, and he didn't understand – couldn't – how much I love Ron. 

   He didn't understand that when he was telling me to hurt Harry, when he was dehumanizing Harry, my hesitation was not out of love for the Boy-Who-Lived. He thought he'd triumphed when he'd beat out the green-eyed seeker for my affections.

   But I couldn't hurt Harry; I could never hurt Harry, no matter how much I wanted to for Tom, no matter how much Tom made me loathe him – because of Ron. Because I would hurt Ron. 

   The fact that Tom would ask me to hurt Ron was too much, and it hurt me, but I tried to make him go away. I loved Tom, I loved Tom so deeply; but not even for Tom could I forsake Ron. Tom didn't know. Tom didn't know about the secret smiles, the hushed conspiracies, and the gentle teasing of siblings. Tom didn't know about the grandiose schemes and the fierce protectiveness of Weasleys.

   Tom didn't know about the warm embraces that were Ron and I.

   Tom came back to me, and he was angry, so angry…and I couldn't explain. I couldn't. So instead, I pretended it was Harry, it was Harry all along I was scared for, and Tom coaxed me into my repentance – letting out the basilisk again to find prey. Now I knew it could kill – I knew so well, from how he'd spoken of Harry that it could kill – but I was so deep inside of Tom I couldn't escape. I could only obey, and love him blindly, so blindly, even though I felt now that it was wrong. 

   Before I had thought it was wrong because Tom was just a memory, and he was older than I was – even the memory of him was too much older than I was – my parents wouldn't approve even if he were real. Tom was different than I was, a Slytherin, half-Muggle even…but all those things didn't matter in the end, they'd never mattered, because I'd loved him through it all despite these things. No, it was wrong for me to love Tom, in the end, because loving Tom meant I would hurt Ron.

   When I was down in that chamber – I realized something. Tom only loved me as far as he could use me. When he had Petrified Hermione, and I saw how sad and angry Ron was, I couldn't live with myself. I rebelled against Tom. I couldn't let him use me any longer, because I knew then, I knew that whatever he did from then on, it would hurt Ron. Because Ron wanted Hermione safe; Ron wanted the monster gone. And the monster, all along, was Tom, was me…I had betrayed my brother so, in loving Tom. 

   Tom couldn't take it. When I told him to stop, he wouldn't. I begged him to stop, believe me…I begged, if he loved me, to stop it, or we could never be together. But he didn't love me then, oh no. He'd only loved me when I'd served his purpose; he'd only needed me then. Now it ended, as simple as that. He said it was because I didn't love him anymore, that I loved my precious Potter so much more…that I would sacrifice Tom's life for his, because without the basilisk, Potter would destroy him. I wouldn't have let that happen – if Tom had really loved me. Now I saw that he didn't understand love, not at all.

   I didn't understand it that much better, because I realized in the end that my love of Tom had enabled him to use me. To control me and to take me – down into that chamber, and away from my life. 

   After that, all I could feel was regret. The hurt of Tom not loving me was a faint memory; the hurt of my life draining away was far from my mind. Instead, I regretted that I had betrayed my brother. Because I had loved Tom, I had hurt him; I had risked Hermione's life, and I would risk his, because I knew, I knew with all of my heart that Ron would come for me. Ron would always come for me.

   He did; he had. Harry was the one to save me, and at first, I was so relieved that Tom was gone, that the danger was gone, that it didn't even register that Ron hadn't been the one to rescue me. I remember babbling, sobbing of a million things that didn't matter, and Harry led me along the tunnel. I hurt so badly, but it meant I was alive, not in the sweet, painless deceit Tom had given me in substitute for living – and there he was.

   Ron had come for me. 

   "Ginny!" he called. My name.

   It had never sounded so sweet.

   Yet, I could barely let him touch me, not after what I'd done. He tried to hold me, but I couldn't let myself into his arms. I didn't deserve their comfort. I had brought this on – all my fault – and I should've had to make it go away. But I've never been that strong; Ron has always saved me. Always.

   For hours and days after his hand tingled in mine – I felt as if the guilt of my betrayal was burning me – until finally, one day in the Hospital Wing, I burst into tears. I couldn't help but tell him everything.

   Ron is such a good listener, like Tom – but he's not like Tom, because he's listening because he cares for me, not because he wants to make it seem that way, not because he wants to use my words against me. And unlike Tom, who only loved me when I would stand beside him, Ron loved me still, though I told him of my betrayal and my guilt and all the things I'd been willing to do to hurt him.

   He loved me still – he held me, and in his unique Ron way, he made everything okay. He made everything okay, because he loves me – unconditionally. His love is real, not the manipulation of a Dark Lord – it's the pure, true love of a brother to a sister.

   Still, I wonder why I feel like a woman with Ron lying next to me. I've only ever felt that way with Tom; probably because he made me make the kind of decisions a child could never make. With Ron…I should feel like a child again, a child being sheltered from the storm; a child basking in the sunshine, the kind of light that sparkles in Ron's eyes. Instead, I feel older. Like Ron's love makes me more than I am, somehow. But that's not the beauty of what he feels for me, because Ron loves me for who I am; he doesn't want me to be anything more, like Tom would, or even Harry. I can tell Harry knows about the crush I had on him, but he's not acting on it; he cares about me, loves me even, but he needs something more from me, something that I don't understand.

   Ron doesn't want anything more than what I am; but he makes me something more, just by loving me. And I wonder if that's a good thing.


	2. Strawberries and Cream

   Author's Note: This chapter has been finished for a while, but I was waiting on beta-readers and the writing of the next chapter to post it. Finally, though, I relent, because both things are taking too long. Real life stuff, at least in my case. Anyway, point being, all errors are solely mine, and do enjoy the chapter.

*******

   "You told me it would be different," she says, her dark eyes glistening with tears. "You told me that you'd stop ignoring me – but all you did the whole year was ignore me!"

   "That's not true, Ginny, and you know it," I answer heatedly, staring her down. "You and I watched all the Quidditch games and practices together, we spent our birthdays together –"

   "Ron," she cries, looking at me pleadingly. "Listen to what you're saying! I'm just a little sister to you – a substitute for Harry or Hermione, someone to see on special occasions, someone you tell to leave when you have something important to say! Didn't I used to be worth more than that? Didn't we used to be best friends, to be Ron and Ginny? Now you're Ron, I'm Ginny, and I feel like I'm not worth anything! Ron, I'm not worth anything without you…"

   She bursts into tears and sobs brokenheartedly. I don't know how to respond at all; the best I can do is to gather her into my arms and stroke her hair.

   This doesn't appease her in the least. She pounds on my chest with tiny, shaking fists, as if my nearness drives her mad.

   "No," she protests. "No, you can't. You can't! I don't mean anything…I don't mean anything – I'm just another Weasley – even to you…"

   "Ginny," I say, my voice trembling with emotion, "you're wrong."

   I release her and step away, determined to meet her eyes with mine. Her lips tremble in anger, and she lifts her head to meet my gaze in a defiant motion – but something inside her falters when she looks at me. Her expression melts into one of curiosity, surprise; awe, even. 

   "Why, Ron?" she asks, genuinely wanting to know. "Why am I wrong?"

   "Ginny," I begin, words failing me in the abyss of her innocent eyes. "Ginny, I've tried to keep you out of this because you're too good for this. I don't want you to be around Harry, Hermione and I, because being around us means you'll be in danger. And I don't want that for you. I don't want that for you, because you're Ginny, and I can't bear to see you in danger." 

   I suck in a breath; even my lungs quaver. "You know what it was like to hear it? To hear them say that the student that had been taken into the Chamber of Secrets was Ginny Weasley – was you? I couldn't see straight. I couldn't breathe, I couldn't stand, I couldn't think. And I had to get to you. I had to make you all right. Gin, every year I go through stuff like that now – with Harry. And I've been scared. I've been afraid that Harry might die, or Hermione. I've been afraid I might die, and I almost have. But Ginny…I've never in my life been so paralyzed by fear as that time they said your name. I can't live with that. I can't. In my right mind, I could never put you in that danger. So yeah, I try to leave you out of it – the Harry, Hermione, Ron thing. Because we don't have a choice, Gin, we're always going to be in that danger. But you…you can still be safe, Ginny, and that's all I want for you. Because I couldn't live with myself…I couldn't –"

   It's too much for me. I break down and cry – blubber like a baby, more like. All over the memory of a time when my sister, my Ginny, could've died. Just a memory. 

   I don't care if it's just a memory. It was still real. And I love her so – I love my Ginny so – that even the fleeting thought of losing her is enough to tear me apart.

   I don't know how she could ever think she doesn't mean anything to me. She means the world to me. It's always been that way – Ron, and his Ginny. Ginny, and her Ron. Even now that it's more often Harry, Ron and Hermione, I still feel the same. 

   Nothing will change how much I love Ginny.

   "Ron," she begins, her doe eyes staring up at me. In perfect innocence; an angel, she is.

   "Ron," she repeats, and the harshness in her voice has melted away; she now speaks in perfect composure, and even with affection. Even in her _Ron's _it's evident.

   "You do have a choice," she says, solemn gaze square on me. "You can choose whether or not to be in danger – you can choose whether or not to be Harry's friend. And so can Hermione."

   "Ginny," I burst out heatedly, "he needs us. We can't just stop caring about him. It would destroy him."

   Her gaze has become more pointed. "Exactly, Ron. You can't just stop caring about him. Just like I can't stop caring about you. So maybe I make a choice. Maybe I choose to be in danger, and maybe you don't want me to, but I don't care, Ron – without you, I'll break. I'll fall apart. I need you, Ron. I need you, and unlike Harry, I have no Hermione to fall back on when you're not there."

   I open my mouth to protest, but realize the truth of what she's spoken; Ginny doesn't have friends she can turn to, friends like Hermione and Harry. And she can't run to Fred, George or Percy anymore than I can. It was always Ginny and I; they know that, and we know that. It's unspoken and yet so clear.

   And Mum and Dad are distant, now; after all Hogwarts has put my Ginny and I through, we can't go back to them. Not if we tried.

   "Gin…" I try weakly. "I just don't want you to get hurt."

   She gives me a wistful smile. "I'm perfectly capable of getting hurt all by myself, Ronald Weasley," she chides, but it pains me – because this, too, is strikingly true. "With or without you, I'll get myself into more trouble than I know what to do with. All I ask of you is for you to be there to bail me out of it. Like you used to be."

   Nostalgia paints an unbidden smile on my face. "I was a big brother then. Protective, all the time. And I remember – I used to try to save you from Percy…"

   She snorts. "Only because _I saved __you from the twins."_

   My smile breaks into a grin. "Yes, well, let's not try to suss out which is the greater evil."

   Her smile is genuine, now, but her eyes have again turned solemn. "You're still the big brother, you know. Gallivanting off to save me from that Chamber and all the memories of…" she hesitates. She's been trying to forget Tom, I know. I let it go. 

   "You still try to help me," she recovers. "When you remember I exist."

   "Gin…" I groan. Every time she says that, I want to scream. Of course, I know that she exists! Of course, I think about her! Of course, I want to be with her, but I don't want her to get hurt…

   "Ron," she cuts in quickly, dismissively, "just promise me it'll be different now. Just promise me that you'll let me in. That you'll love me like you used to."

   "I've always loved you, Ginny – I'll always love you," I say loyally.

   She seems downcast again. "I wonder," she murmurs.

   "Ginny! What in the bloody hell do you mean?" Shock overtakes me. I can't believe the look on her face. It's as if she's lost her best friend and family, all in one day. I can't blame her – she thinks I don't love her, and I know if I thought she didn't love me, I'd be in a state. But how can she even think such a thing? There hasn't been a moment in the years we've spent together that I've ever dwelled on a passing thought about not loving Ginny. I just always have, completely, through absolutely everything.

   Why can't she see that?

   "People say 'I love you' all the time, Ron," she informs me. "And it doesn't mean a thing."

   "What makes you think that it doesn't mean anything when I say it?"

   "Because," she says. "It just pops out of your mouth, so easy. Like you've practiced. Like you're just used to saying it – as if you were telling people your name."

   "Well, that's because I know I love you as well as I know my name, Gin," I state, matter-of-factly. "It's easy, because it's always been true. It's natural."

   "It hasn't always been true," she protests. "You can't just love me always. There's always a moment."

   "What moment?" I demand.

   "_The_ moment – the moment when you realize you love someone."

   "Then," I say, smiling at her, "the moment is now. And every moment before now. And every moment after. Because I'll always be realizing another way I love you."

   She breaks eye contact with me. "Ron, I'm serious," she says, sounding forlorn, and slightly annoyed.

   I sigh; she's lost me somewhere along the way, but all I can do is try to make it better.

   "What do I have to do, Ginny?"

   "What do you mean?"

   "What do I have to do," I repeat, exasperated, "to prove that I love you?"

   She looks me straight in the eye, an uncompromising glint in her gaze. "Kiss me."

   "What?" I cry, flabbergasted.

   "You used to kiss me goodnight every night," she explains calmly, "and no matter how much we fought all day, or how angry you were with me, you always did it with such affection I knew you loved me. I just knew. You didn't have to smile; you didn't have to say a word. You would always kiss me and tell me everything inside you, and all of it was for me; love for me. And…"

   She falters. Her gaze drops. "I miss that," she concludes, dejectedly.    

   My eyes lower to the floor. Something about her sad eyes gnaws away at me inside; the guilt of leaving her consumes me until I'm drowning in it, choking on it, and I can barely breathe. I didn't realize until now how much she needed me; I guess I'd thought because I didn't have to depend on her anymore, that she didn't have to depend on me…but I was obviously wrong.

   We stand together in funereal silence for a lengthy moment – and finally, she turns to go, tears sparkling in her eyes. I grab her by the arms before she can take one step and I try to tell her what she needs to hear; I try to bridge across two wasted years to make it right.

   I kiss her, with everything inside me, but it's changed from when we were children; the light, brief brush of lips we shared then has turned into something more intimate. I feel Ginny's slight body press up against mine and our hearts are beating together, and I know it now – I know she feels that I love her; I know that she can read the unspoken words from my lips. 

   Now I've told her, but it doesn't seem like I should pull away. What was meant to be little more than a brief peck is persisting; she doesn't draw away, and I don't want to be the one to break the embrace. I don't want her to think that I did this out of obligation…I want her to know…

   Ginny's mouth against mine tastes as sweet as strawberries and cream and suddenly I realize the price. The price of kissing her like this; in a way that's more passionate, more adventurous, than I ever thought to kiss her as a child. I'm crossing the line; that line between love, and then the kind of feeling that a brother never ought to feel, that kind of feeling that you get when someone's lips taste so sweet, and you can't seem to bring yourself to pull away, and your fingers become impossibly tangled in their hair –

   I muster the will to draw back, and try to do it smoothly, as to not alarm her, but it's hard. Sometime inexplicably along the way, our hearts had to have ceased beating as one, because I feel mine going a thousand miles a minute and my fingers shake with adrenaline. It's hard to keep her from being alarmed, because honestly, I'm terrified.

   "Ginny," I say, and my hoarse voice scares me, too. I clear my throat as best I can. 

   "Ron," she blurts out, her voice higher than usual. "I'm sorry."

   I frown slightly. "What for?"

   "Never mind," she replies quickly. "I just…never mind. Goodnight."

   "Goodnight," I answer, and she leaves the room as quickly as I can utter the response. My hand involuntarily reaches up to my lips, which throb and seem to swell, as if seared by hers.

   I can't help but to think that I'll never look at strawberries the same way again.


	3. Vigilance

Author's Note: Well…this took quite long, didn't it? Yeah, I stopped writing fanfiction for like four months…but I came back to this fanfic the other day and I just had to work on it. I have this feeling I really have to finish it. Meep. Anyway, I didn't edit this very much, in the hurry to get it up. Feel free to point out any mistakes and please review, no matter what you have to say.

*******

   His eyes travel slowly and meticulously over the chess pieces; he's solving the mysteries of the universe in the form of knights and pawns, yet again. The common room is empty now – the other students have long since gone to bed. Ron would've gone with them, too – Merlin knows he's the kind who could sleep for an age if he could – but obviously something's on his mind. I try not to wonder what it is; instead, I try to be grateful for it. If he hadn't had some kind of moral quandary plaguing him, I could never get him alone. Not alone enough to talk about something…something like…well, we're never really alone enough to talk about what's really on my mind. Someone's always watching, somehow; or maybe it just feels that way, because it feels like there would be so many people to tell me that what I want to say is wrong. I feel guilty about it, the wrongness.

   Then sometimes I forget why I feel guilty entirely and those are the times when I know they're not just watching – they're gaping.

   "I didn't appreciate that, you know."

   I startle him out of his chess-induced reverie and he glances halfway towards me, his eyes and mind still mostly on the game. "Didn't appreciate what?"

   I just glare. "What do you think?"

   He looks up at me, exasperation apparent in his expression. "Come on, Gin, are you going to make me guess all night, or will you tell me what's got your knickers in a bunch?"

   "'Ginny, you can go with Harry,'" I quote, deadpan. 

   "What about it?" he replies distractedly, casting a brief glance in my direction. "I thought you'd want to. You like Harry, don't you?"

   "Yes, I like Harry," I agree. "I don't see what that has to do with it."

   "Well, you like him…like that, you know?" He sounds uncomfortable at this point; the uncertainty carries over into his eyes, which roam the chessboard almost self-consciously. "I mean…you admitted that to me before, you…liked him that way. And you seemed upset about him asking Cho, I figured –"

   "You figured wrong," I state coolly. "I don't like Harry 'like that'."

   He looks up at me dubiously.

   "Anymore," I amend. "That was over a long time ago."

   "And what about Cho?" he asks, his fingers absently brushing a few pieces.

   "I wasn't jealous of her," I explain, "I just feared where you would turn to find Harry a date if the person he wanted to go with didn't accept. Apparently, my fears were justified."

   He looks frustrated now. "Why would you be afraid? What's so wrong with going to the ball with Harry as your friend? I mean, you don't like _Neville_ that way, do you? And you're going with him, just to go."

   "I didn't want to go with Harry, because if he ever thought of me 'like that', he would think he had a chance with me. And he doesn't. Neville, at least, knows what to expect from me. He knows my heart belongs to someone else."

   Confusion clouds focussed blue eyes. "But if Harry doesn't have a chance with you – if your heart doesn't belong to Harry – then who does it belong to?"

   "None of your business," I snap defensively, turning my gaze away from his. 

   "Gin." His voice is gentle and pleading. I want to look to him, but I can't.

   Someone's always watching and we're never alone enough, we're never alone enough for me to say what's on my mind, to say what's been on my mind for half a year now, since that day when Harry Potter vanished completely from my mind. Since that day someone I care about finally looked at me and saw me for what I am and loved me for who I am and loved me so much nothing else could ever be enough –

   Since that day he kissed me.

   He – my brother, Ron – kissed me. Like a brother never ought to kiss a sister.

   He did it, though. And I don't regret it. I don't regret the taste of him in my mouth like it was yesterday; a sweet, tangy, spicy taste like my grandmother's spaghetti sauce; a familiar, lingering taste. My only regret is that I can't taste it anew – and again, and again, and again, until those eyes that always watch wouldn't just gape, they'd bug out in indignant horror.

   Sometimes I think I'd like them to do that, that I wouldn't care who watched, and then I realize that I can't say what's on my mind, because even if Ron would understand – like he always understands – we will never be alone enough.

   "Gin." His calming voice interrupts my racing thoughts, but does nothing to slow the pace of my frantic heart, pounding against my ribcage. "Gin, who is it your heart belongs to?"

   Asking so gently and calmly that it seems like he almost cares – not who it is, but about me. I mean, he cares who it is, because he wants to change it, he wants to make it Harry, he wants the happy fairy-tale ending for Harry and he wants me to give it to him – but he doesn't care about me, he doesn't ask out of care for my feelings. He's been putting on the dance, the masquerade – he spends more time with me now, but he's been avoiding what happened half a year ago, avoiding talking about _that night. _

   Maybe…maybe he just feels them watching, too, and we're just never alone enough. We can never be alone enough.

   So it might as well be now. Because we're never really going to be alone, right?

   "Ron," I say softly, barely feeling the words escape my lips. Something else has a hold on me. "You know who my heart belongs to. You _know_."

   He gives a half-hearted almost-smile. "Gin, didn't I tell you before about making me guess?"

   I breathe deeply. My voice shakes as I speak the words but they're coming out – something's making them come out.

   "Ron, my heart belongs to you."

   Finally, he turns completely away from the chess. I've captured his undivided attention – for once.

   His, and the attention of someone, that someone who's always watching – I know they're staring now, I know they've burned the words I've said into their minds, recorded them until further notice. I find that I don't care – I don't care anymore. All I care about is the reaction in Ron's eyes.

   He can't even look at me. 

   "Ginny," he says slowly, "I understand that you love me – I mean, I'm your brother – but you shouldn't confuse that with –"

   I feel the eyes of someone boring into me. I snap. "I'm not the one who's confused, Ron – you are. If you want to pretend that kiss was nothing – that it meant nothing to you – then that's fine. In fact, maybe it doesn't mean anything to you now. But I know it did then. And it still means something to me, regardless of whether you care about me or not. So don't say that I'm confused, Ronald Weasley. I am not confused. I am in love with you. And I know the difference between that and just loving you, thank you very much."

   He stares up at me – and says the strangest thing. 

   "Ginny," he chastises – in a brotherly way; a familial way. "Of course I care about you." 

   "Don't you dare," I hiss. 

   "Dare what? Care about you?" he says, with a twitch of a smile.

   "Ignore this."

   He looks directly into my eyes – not masquerading, not ignoring, not pretending – he's himself, and he's looking at me. He's pleading with me. "Ginny, I have to. You know we can't do this. You know it's –"

   I can't stand to hear him say it. I can't stand for him to look at me – at _us _– like someone. Like someone else would. 

   I collect him in my arms and I smash my mouth to his, demanding him to feel the things I can't say. He tries to pull away at first but soon he yields and he melts and opens to me and I can taste his familiar, lingering flavour and I'm desperate for more, pulling closer to him, clawing at him, more, more –

   He doesn't want to give it to me, though. Instead, he tumbles to the carpet with a soft thud, escaping my advances. 

   "Ginny," he rasps, breathless. "We can't."

   "Tell me that didn't mean anything to you. Tell me that didn't feel right," I choke in desperation, my voice cracking on the words. 

   He slowly rises to his feet, his eyes not meeting mine, his stance defeated.

   "Tell me!" I sob, tears cutting tracks down my face. "Don't you think I tried not to love you? Don't you think I wanted to make this go away? To make myself not want you this way, to not want to…"

   He reaches towards me, as if not sure if he's allowed to touch me – as if I might break. "Shh, Ginny – please, don't cry…"

   "Don't look at me like that!" I nearly shriek. 

   His expression of confusion – such a normal, usual expression – makes me want to cry harder.

   "Don't look at me like you can make everything better. Don't look at me like I'm afraid of nothing and you can make it all okay. Don't look at me," I rave hysterically, my voice subsiding into quiet lamenting, "like you can comfort me. Because you can't. I love you and you'll never love me – _like that _– and nothing can make that go away."

   "Ginny," he says incredulously, suddenly in front of me, suddenly with his hands on my shoulders. "Ginny."

   "What?" I wail bitterly. "What do you want from me?" 

   "Ginny," he continues, his voice very solemn. "It's true that…I can't change anything for you. I can't make any of this go away but…Gin, I don't know if I would."

   I look up at him in shock. "What do you –"

   "I love you like – I'm in love with you. It's never been otherwise, not since…not since that kiss. It seems like…nothing else could be right. Like that was the only real thing that's ever happened in my life and I…I love you but I know I shouldn't and I know I can't and I just wanted you not to be living a life where someone's always saying that you're wrong, that you're –"

   "Ron." I shake him gently. "Ron, I would rather be hated by the whole world my entire lifetime than spend it denying that I love you. You're my world. Without you, nothing matters. I love you so much that you're the only thing that matters –"

   I can't speak anymore, only weep and rail helplessly against him. He holds me close, trying to calm me and still me to no avail. Finally, between one of my fits, he speaks.

   "Why us? Why would they do this to us? They say…they say that two people are destined to be together – soul mates, like – but if we're destined to be together than why can't we be together?" Ron stares into my teary eyes, looking desperate.

   "Because…" I grasp for words but I realize –

   I don't know why.

   And all there is between us is silence.

   We're not alone enough. We're never alone enough. Because someone's always watching and that someone is laughing.


	4. Push

   Author's Note: All right, so I've been on a serious fanfiction writing hiatus. I have an idea how to end this story but…I don't know if there's a time when I'll get there. This could be it…at least for the time being.

   In any case, I'm hoping to come back to this and "Cold Embrace"…I feel they haven't really been done justice, but I just don't know how to handle it anymore. If anyone is willing to beta-read or knows someone who would, it would be much appreciated. 

   And in case I don't write another one of these for a long time, thanks for the consideration, all – and I enjoyed the ficcing ride.

*******

   The Gryffindor common room is (as it's rarely ever been) quiet.

   He's the only one there, his eyes fixated on the bright flames in the fireplace. Everyone else has long since gone to sleep; after an exciting, early morning full of Christmas presents and a long, festive ball spent dining and dancing, even Fred and George are finally spent. So is he, but he hasn't yet retired to the dormitory to sleep, and he won't be anytime soon.

   All he can think about is her.

   She looked so beautiful in her gown, the folds of it perfectly framing her petite, still developing body. Her petal lips were dabbed in gloss and her eyes set in sparkling gold. Her shoes were delicate and silk, creamy white slippers for graceful, tiny feet. 

   The only part he hadn't liked was her hair.

   He was used to her long, unkempt hair streaming down, falling every which way around her face. But tonight, just for this night, she'd gathered it as neatly as possible – as neatly as he'd ever seen it, and he'd seen it every day for quite a long time now – and pulled it back in a most efficient way. A way that meant there were no unruly strands he longed to tuck behind her ear; no runaway hairs he longed to smooth. For tonight, she was perfect in every way – an angel.

   Tonight, he felt like he couldn't touch her if he tried to, and that scared him like nothing else ever had.

   He tried desperately to restrain himself – he couldn't stand her dancing with someone else. He ended up taking his aggression out on absolutely everyone but him. Then, in the end, when all was said and done – when _he _was gone – he turned on her.

   He remembered her eyes, shining with righteous anger. "And why shouldn't I be allowed to dance with who I want to, Ronald Weasley?"

   "Obviously, you don't have the presence of mind to choose! Look who you were there with –"

   She snorted. "Oh, because that Padma Patil is just _such_ a prize."

   He scowled back at her. "You know why it ended up that way, and it wasn't by my choice."

   "Oh, wasn't it? That's right, you would have preferred to go with Fleur Delacour. Yeah, and I'm dating Draco Malfoy on the side."

   "What's that supposed to mean?"

   Her nostrils were flaring in rage, and by the violence of her motions and the weight of gravity from the night, some of her hair was coming loose from its bondage.

   "That means that I don't think you would have had it any other way."

   "Come on, now," he retorted. "You know I would have –"

   "You would have what? Tell me, Ron, who else did you want to go with? And don't you dare say Fleur Delacour, because both of us know that's a joke."

   She was right in front of him now, her falling hair forming a halo around her head. Suddenly, it didn't matter how angry she was, or who she'd gone to the ball with, or how much she'd just insulted him. Suddenly, all that mattered to Ronald Weasley was that she was close enough to touch, and he could touch her.

   She was upset. She was human.

   He could touch her.

   "Ginny," he said, his voice suddenly soft and soothing. "I wanted to – I wish I could have gone with you."

   The fire in her eyes dimmed as if she wanted to believe him, but the cynicism in her voice didn't fade one bit. "I doubt that. It's Hermione Granger, isn't it? It's Hermione."

   He looked at her in disbelief. She ignored his gaze and continued.

   "I bet you've fallen in love with her, haven't you? Her, and her cleverness, and loyalty, and her bravery." Ginny wasn't speaking words anymore; she was spitting them. "If you could see her like I do…"

   "See her like what?" he asked, confused.

   She dismissed him. "Aren't you going to admit it? Don't you owe me that much?"

   He had long since stopped understanding her words, and his hands moved to her shoulders. "Ginny…" he said softly, in a low voice meant only for her ears, and not just because of the quiet.

   "Don't touch me," she hissed, trying to pry him off. "I don't want you to lie to me –"

   "Ginny," he said again, imploringly, "look at me. Please just look at me."

   She met his searching eyes with her tear-filled ones. "Ron –"

   "I don't want anyone – anyone but you, Ginny."

   She looked up at him and he could tell by her eyes – she knew it was true.

   "What's between us, Gin – what I feel for you – it'll never change," he insisted, his voice choked with emotion. The simple, maddening reality tasted bitter on his tongue.

   "No," she whispered. "This is wrong…and…you'll hate yourself for it. For…"

   "For loving you?"

   She quailed under the intensity of his gaze. "For letting your feelings for me destroy your life."

   He shook her by the shoulders, forcing her attentive. "Ginny," he began firmly, "this isn't wrong. I love you. Nothing about you can destroy me. Nothing about you can make me hate, can make me hurt, can fault me. You are the only thing that saves me – you're the only thing that keeps me from hating, from hurting – can't you see that I love you? Can't you see that this is real, that this – that we can't just put this away?"

    Her every breath passed her lips like a conscious effort and when she looked at him again, tears were glistening in her eyes.

   "Can't you see it – Ron, don't you know that we have to?" Her voice was small and pathetic, so strained with the burden of the words that she was barely forming sounds.

   "I can't stop loving you," he said simply. She met his gaze.

   "I know," she replied. "But we have to pretend."

   "Why?" he asked, half petulant, half desperate. 

   "Because we owe it to them."

   "They can sod off. All I care about is you."

   She gave him a look. "You know that's not true."

   His expression softened. "The only reason I care about anything is because of you. I can't let the world be a place that hurts you." He wrapped his arms around her as if to shelter her from a storm, and as he felt her shuddering body against him, he was filled with the most bittersweet rapture. 

   To touch her like this would be worth his forever.

   "We owe it to each other," she said, her voice muffled in his shoulder. She had melted into him, like the once-sibling she'd been, greedy for solace – even now that it meant something else entirely.

   "I know," he had said, as she released him. 

   "I understand," he had said, as she left him to ascend the tower stairs, her tear-streaked face reminding him that his angel had fallen – and that there was nothing for him to do to save her.

   He sits alone now, thinking of nothing but her, and not understanding why – why he knows he has to be without her, despite the fact that she is all that he wants, all he's ever really wanted. The tears that streak down his face and into his lap remind him that everyone can be touched, everyone –

    Even when it's wrong.

   He remembers the way she looked, framed in unkempt hair, firelight dancing in her glistening tears. He remembers what it's like to make an angel fall – to touch her. He remembers every time he's fallen in love with her, and remembers every time he realized it. He remembers her beauty. Her grace. Her love. 

   Her kiss.

   He closes his eyes, picturing everything he's ever cared about – everything he knows about her – in his mind. 

   He closes his eyes, and lets the tears fall where they may.

   He closes his eyes, and tries to forget her.


End file.
